Creation of the Primordials: The Lightning Thief
by MasterZezzo
Summary: Being a Half-Blood is dangerous. It's scary, and most of the time it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways. I suppose it's a good thing I'm not a Half-Blood, but I'm sure you'll find my relatives to be much more dangerous than monsters, and even the gods, could ever be... and I don't like being used, I don't care how powerful they are. Fem!Percy. No pairing as of yet. T for Safety
1. I Bend Reality

**CHAPTER EDITED AND IMPROVED ON: 11/9/2013**

**Hello hello Fanfiction community. I'm back again with a new story.**

**Yes, I know I have THREE others that haven't been updated in forever, after they ****_barely _****got started. I apologize but I'll get around to them eventually. See, the thing is, I go through different stages.**

**For instance, a Naruto stage. I read read and read Naruto fanfiction. Watch Naruto AMVs, then become hungry for more. Then, an idea pops into my head! After weeks and weeks of throwing it around, I finally get to the point where I can't take it, and then I start writing.**

**Only, as soon as I start writing I begin drifting out of that stage and into a new one. Like Harry Potter.**

**Same thing happens, and BAM, suddenly I'm at a new stage.**

**Well, this one is Percy Jackson. There is a distinct lack of GOOD, and LONG femPercy fanfictions.**

**I like fem!Character stories. So sue me. Anyway, this time I'm writing about it as ****_soon _****as I get the was, I have a couple of weeks to get into my story, so hopefully by the time it comes to move onto another fandom, I'll be invested enough in my own story to continue it.**

**That's what I'm going for anyway.**

**So, yeah, now about this story specifically:**

**My fem!Percy (AJ) is slightly different than cannon Percy. In personality, that is. I know it's a very small change, but she's only twelve and her life hasn't taken a turn for the insane yet. She'll be a completely different person by the end. Also, the plot line I have in mind doesn't really begin to develop on it's own until later. So, it's likely that this particular story will be ****_very_**** similar to The Lightning Thief. I know that doesn't sound very interesting, but there will be some changes.**

**I want the general sequence of events to be the same, so this has to happen, and this has to be here so I can develop AJ, and her relationships with Camp Half-Blood, as well as the gods.**

**That being said:**

**I DO NOT OWN PERCY JACKSON & THE OLYMPIANS. ****_MOST_**** OF THIS STORY IS JUST A SLIGHT REWORK OF THAT. I DID NOT ORIGINALLY WRITE IT, NOR DO I GAIN ANYTHING FROM WRITING THIS, OTHER THAN PERSONAL SATISFACTION. DON'T SUE ME, I HAVE ENOUGH DEBT, THANKS.**

**So, on with the story, yes?**

**...No seriously, stop staring at me. Read.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

**I Bend Reality**

My name is Atalanta Perseus Jackson.

But don't you _dare _call me that. Not Atalanta, not Perseus, not even Percy.

Just AJ.

If you even _think _to call me anything other than AJ, I'll punch you so hard and fast that your entire world will flip upside down. Are we clear? Good.

I'm twelve years old. Until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan—twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know-it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading the trip, so I had hopes that it would be at least mildly entertaining.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard. He wore a frayed tweed jacket, which always seemed to smell like coffee.

You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes, and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped it wouldn't be as mind-numbingly boring as I expected.

Unfortunately, I was right.

See, bad things happen when I get bored. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this incident with the Revolutionary War cannon. I only wanted to see if it would work, I wasn't actually trying to destroy the school bus… but of course I was expelled anyway.

And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I got bored and decided to try out a level. Sadly, I picked the wrong one (or right one, however you want to look at it) on the catwalk, and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that… Well, you get the idea.

I didn't feel like getting expelled again.

All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit—the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl hitting my friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

I use the term 'friend' loosely. I don't like it when the strong pick on the weak. Not that Nancy Bobofit is particularly strong, of course. Grover was an easy target. Our relationship was forged out of his necessity, and my sense of justice.

He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled.

He had a note excusing him from P.E. for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster threatened me with dead by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip. This, incidentally, goes against my personality completely, but whatever.

"I'm going to kill her," I grumbled under my breath.

Grover tried to calm me down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter."

He dodged another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." I began to get up, but Grover pulled me back into my seat.

"You're already on probation," He reminded me. "You know who'll get banned if anything happens."

Looking back on it, I'm glad that I didn't actually deck Nancy Bobofit. Boredom would have continued to be a problem in my life.

Mr. Brunner led the museum tour.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It was rather interesting that this stuff had survived for thousands of years.

He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and started telling us how it was a grave marker, stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was actually kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking. Every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye. The old hag.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker.

She had to come to Yancy halfway through the year, when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was devil spawn, which is actually kind of funny, considering that she looked like something that had crawled straight out of Hell.

She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr. Brunner kept talking about funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turned around and said, "Will you shut up?"

It came out louder than I meant it to, but I didn't really care.

The whole group laughed. Mr. Brunner stopped his story.

"Ms. Jackson," he said, "Did you have a comment?"

I stared back blankly. "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture is?"

I glanced at the carving and recognized it instantly. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?" Kronos was one of the very few topics that I was actually interested in.

"Yes," Mr. Brunner said, obviously not satisfied.

"And he did this because…"

"Kronos was the king of the Titans," I began, "He didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So Kronos ate them. But his wife, Rhea, hid Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead… and then later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked Kronos into barfing up his brothers and sisters—"

"Eeew!" said one of the girls behind me. I continued on as if she hadn't spoken.

"—and then there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans, and the gods won."

There were some snickers from the group that I didn't quite understand, but I figured it would be too tiring to try and figure out how the minds of idiots worked.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"

"And why, Ms. Jackson," Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover muttered.

"Shut up," Nancy hissed her face even brighter than her red hair.

Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I thought about his question for a moment, and then shrugged. "I don't know, sir."

Now, I'm not one for being polite and respectful, but Mr. Brunner was someone I thought deserved it.

"I see." Mr. Brunner felt disappointed. "Well, half credit, Ms. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and win, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered hi remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifted off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around like doofuses.

Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Ms. Jackson."

I knew what was coming. I told Grover to keep going. Then I turned toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?"

Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go—intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything.

"You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. Brunner told me.

"About real life?"

"Yes and how your studies apply to it," he said, "What you learn from me is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, AJ."

I wanted to roll my eyes. The man didn't deserve my display of indifference to what he thought was important, but he just tried so hard to get me to… well, try.

Sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped.

But Mr. Brunner seemed to know what I was capable of, and expected me to be as good—no, better—than everyone else. I had never made above a C- in my life. I just didn't care enough to apply myself to school work.

I mumbled something about trying harder instead, while Mr. Brunner took one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He told me to go outside and eat my lunch.

The class gathered outside on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York State had been weird since Christmas.

We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, and wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane rolling in.

Nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchable crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing.

Grover and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. I didn't want to bother being close to the other kid-stupidity might be contagious-and I was the only one Grover could actually talk to.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner."

Grover didn't say anything for a while, and we ate in silence. Then he suddenly spoke up, "Can I have your apple?"

I didn't have much of an appetite, so I let him have it.

I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. She'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. As much as I didn't care about the schools themselves, I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized café table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumped her half eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I tried to stay cool. Every time Nancy did something like that it became harder and harder to control my temper. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I was so mad that my mind went blank. A wave roared in my ears.

I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "AJ pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"

"—the water—"

"—like it grabbed her—"

I didn't know what they were talking about. All I knew was that I was in trouble again.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc. etc., Mrs. Dodds turned on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey—"

"Yeah yeah," I sighed. "A month erasing workbooks."

That wasn't the right thing to say, though on some level I knew that.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds said.

"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stared at him, completely dumbfounded. I couldn't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death. Maybe I _could _call Grover my friend.

She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she said.

"But—"

"You-will-stay-here."

Grover looked at me desperately.

"It's okay," I told him. "Thanks for trying."

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barked at me. "Now."

Nancy Bobofit smirked.

I gave her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later-stare, and produced a smirk of my own when she flinched back.

Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she wasn't there. Instead she was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on. I must have zoned out.

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something. As if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank space behind d it. The school counselor told me it was all part of the ADHD I supposedly have, but I wasn't so sure.

I should also note that when I zone out,_ I'm_ usually the one that ends up several yards away from where I started.

I went after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel.

I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I thought. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop.

But apparently that wasn't the plan.

I followed her deeper into the museum. When I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would have been anxious. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially this old hag. Something about the way she looked at the frieze, as if she wanted to pulverize it…

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she said.

I did the safe thing, even if it made me want to rip my tongue out. I said, "Yes, ma'am."

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you could get away with it?"

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil.

She's a teacher, I thought anxiously. It's not like she's going to hurt me.

My body tensed up, I wasn't so sure.

I said, "I'll try harder, ma'am."

Thunder shook the building.

"We are not fools, Atalanta Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess and you will suffer less pain.

The use of my first name had me seething inwardly, though I had no idea what she was talking about.

All I could think was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of dirty magazines I'd been selling in my dorm.

My stepfather had quite the collection, and even if he noticed they were missing I doubt his tiny mind could put together that I had taken them. They made for good viewing material when I was bored. I'm a very curious girl, and sex is definitely an interesting topic. The money is just an added bonus.

Don't judge me.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't…"

"Your time is up," she hissed.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

I blinked.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his.

"What ho, AJ!" he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.

Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.

I dodged to the side, but she was too fast. Her talons slashed through the air and easily sliced through my cheek. I hissed in pain as blood began sliding down my cheek and snatched the ballpoint out of air. Except when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword—Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My legs were jelly, and my hands were shaking so bad that I almost dropped the sword. But I steeled myself. I would worry about whether this was real or not later. I had no choice but to fight.

She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at me.

I did the only thing I could, and swung the sword.

But Mrs. Dodds was too fast. She would rip me to ribbons before my swing was even halfway through. I wished I was faster. I wished it so dearly that I could practically picture Mrs. Dodds slowing down.

No… Mrs. Dodds _was _slowing down! Her lightning fast lunge had become a jump at the pace of a snail. I was only able to marvel at this… strange twist in the laws of physics, before the sword connected with her.

In an instant Mrs. Dodds resumed her normal speed, pretty much slicing herself in half on the blade. Except instead of a spray of blood like I had been anticipating, the sword passed through her with a hiss before she exploded into yellow powder. She was vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech filled with shock.

I was alone, the bronze sword still clutched in my hand.

Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me.

My hands were trembling. I almost thought that someone had put magic mushrooms in my lunch, but I remembered that I had never actually gotten around to eating.

I glanced at the sword in my hand. There was no way I could have imagined all of that.

Without any idea of what I should do, I went back outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she laughed and said, "Mrs. Kerr sure did a number on you! Serves you right."

I idly acknowledged the stinging pain on my cheek and the blood dribbling down my face.

I said, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about.

She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was, just to make sure I wasn't entirely insane.

He said, "Who?"

But he paused first, and he wouldn't look at me, so I thought he was messing with me.

"Not funny." I told him. "This is serious."

Thunder boomed overhead, muffling Grover's voice. He mumbled something about getting the cut on my face looked at.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his umbrella, reading his book, as if he'd never moved.

I went over to him.

He looked up a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen." He paused when raised an eyebrow at him, a look of incredulity etched on my face. "Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Ms. Jackson."

I decided to humor the man, and handed him the sword. He took the sword and put the cap to the tip of it. I thought _he _had gone insane, until I saw the sword turn back into a pen before my very eyes.

I stared at the pen, and he looked back to my face, as if waiting for me to ask something.

He probably thought the blank look on my face was the typical one I gave, and not one masking deep thought. My mind was going a million miles a minute.

"Sir," I began, "Where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stared at me, mirroring my own blank stare. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "AJ, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?" He eyed the cut on my cheek. "Did you fall? You should have said something sooner…"

I tuned out the rest of Mr. Brunner's words, thoughts whirling around in my head.

I knew something was up. I knew everything that had happened today had been real. I knew that Brunner and Grover were in on it.

I also knew that life was going to get a lot less boring for me.

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**I hate Spell/Grammar check.**

**"PASSIVE VOICE!"  
"HIDDEN VERB!"  
"FRAGMENT (CONSIDER REVISING)!"**

**FUCK. YOU**.

**Anyway, there you have it for the first chapter. In anticipation of some questions/comment you guys are probably thinking:**

**1. I picked Atalanta because she seemed pretty badass.**

**2. No, it's not Atlanta, it's Atalanta. **

**3. Yes, she is a bit perverted for a twelve year old. She stole some of Gabe's dirty mags to get back at him for being a jerk, thought she could make good money selling them at school, decided to take a peak at them during times of boredom (which is often) and they corrupted what innocent she had.**

**Right then.**

**Also, as I mentioned in in the beginning, this story will be like a small rewrite of The Lightning Thief. It will probably become more and more different as the story progresses, and will likely branch off from the original story by the end of The Lightning Thief, or near the beginning/middle of Sea of Monsters.**

**Anyway, please read and review, my sexy sexy friends.**


	2. Hey, At Least It's Not Boring

******CHAPTER EDITED AND IMPROVED ON: 11/9/2013**

**Here we are with Chapter Two, already.**

**Something you guys should know, I won't post a chapter until the next one is completed.**

**That being said, I was going to wait until I was home to post this one, but I got my first review already.**

**It was one word, one simple word, "Awesome."**

**Now, that may not seem like much, but there are hundreds of other things it could have said, and most of them are a lot worse than awesome.**

**Simply put: Awesome, is awesome!**

**Anyway, here we are!**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**Hey, At Least it's Not Boring**

I was used to the occasional weird experience, but usually they were over quickly. This was something more. For the rest of the school year, the entire campus seemed to be completely oblivious to what had transpired at the museum. They were completely and totally convinced that Mrs. Kerr—a perky blond woman I'd never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip—had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

I knew better.

Grover knew something, and he couldn't fool me.

When I mentioned the name Dodds to him, he would hesitate, and then claim she didn't exist, but I knew he was lying.

I didn't have much time to think about it during the days, but at night visions of Mrs. Dodds with talons and leathery wings would wake me up in a cold sweat.

The freak weather continued, which didn't help my mood. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden Atlantic squalls in the Atlantic that year.

I went from bored and disinterested to cranky and irritable. My grades slipped from Ds to Fs.

I got into more fights with Nancy Bobofit and her friends.

I was sent out into the hallway in almost every class.

Finally, when our English teacher, Mr. Nicolle, asked me for the millionth time why I was too lazy to study for spelling tests, I snapped. I called him an old sot.

Not the best comeback, I know, but I was a twelve year old with a lot more on my mind than I had ever had before.

The headmaster sent my mom a letter the following week, making it official: I would not be invited back next year to Yancy Academy.

Fine, I told myself. Just fine, as long as I found out what was going on before the year ended.

I was homesick.

I wanted to be back with my mom in our little apartment on the Upper East Side, even if I had to go to public school and put up with my obnoxious, lecherous stepfather and his stupid poker parties.

And yet… there were things I would miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out my dorm window, the Hudson River in the stance, the smell of pine trees. I'd even miss Grover, who actually turned out to be the closest friend I had ever had, even if he was a little strange. I worried how he'd survive next year without me.

As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for.

I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about his subject being life-and-death for me. I wasn't sure why—though I suspected it had something to do with Mrs. Dodds—but I'd started to believe him.

I remembered Mr. Brunner's serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes.

_I will accept only the best from you, AJ._

I took a deep breath. I knew this stuff. It wasn't hard, but it was boring. Too boring for me to focus on. There was no way I would do well on this exam.

I'd never asked a teacher for help before. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he could offer me some pointers on how to stay attentive. At least, I could apologize for the big fat F I was about to score on his exam. I didn't want to leave Yancy Academy with him thinking I hadn't tried.

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway floor.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard the voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover's said, "…worried about AJ, sir."

I froze.

I won't say that I don't eavesdrop, though most of the time I'm not doing it purposely.

I inched closer.

"…alone this summer," Grover was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too—"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing her," Mr. Brunner said. "We need the girl to mature more."

"But she may not have time. The summer solstice deadline—"

"Will have to be resolved without her, Grover. Let her enjoy her ignorance while she can."

"Sir, she knows something is up…"

"Her imagination," Mr. Brunner insister. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince her of that."

"Sir, I … I can't fail in my duties again." Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean."

"You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping AJ alive until next fall—"

I took another step forward, intent on hearing more, but it seemed that the floor was wet where she stepped. I slipped in the _conveniently _placed puddle, falling backwards and banging her head onto the floor with a thud.

Mr. Brunner went silent.

My heart was hammering, and I felt dizzy. I struggled to get up, but I was too disoriented. I heard a sow clop-clop-clop, like muffled wood blocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling before Mr. Brunner's door began to open the rest of the way.

I panicked, trying to find a way out of this situation, but there was none. By the time I would be able to get up and run down the hall, I would have been seen. I struggled to move, and the splitting headache I now had made me wish I had stayed in my room.

Suddenly, the world shifted around me and I felt a strange pull on my navel. The last thing I saw before I was back in the dorm was a large shape, silhouetted by the light in Mr. Brunner's office.

I was in my bed, dazed and confused. The knot forming on the back of my head, and throbbing headache told me that it wasn't a dream.

I didn't understand what I'd heard downstairs, no more than I could understand how I seemed to teleport back into my dorm.

But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back. They thought I was in some kind of danger.

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my fingers twitching as I tried to keep myself calm, my thoughts everywhere but the boring test I had somehow managed to force myself to finish.

Mr. Brunner called me back inside, and for a moment I was worried he'd found out about my eavesdropping, but I quickly dismissed the idea.

"AJ," he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's … it's for the best."

His tone was kind, thought his words still confused me. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at me and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips.

Instead of what she was implying, my distracted mind conjured up the gruesome mental image of her disgusting lips on my own. I shuddered violently and held back a retch.

I shook my head, and mumbled distractedly, "Okay, sir."

"I mean…" Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn't sure what to say. "This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time."

I winced.

Don't get me wrong, I'm actually a smart girl, and pretty good at reading people—for a twelve year old that is. I knew that he didn't mean it the way it sounded, but I still couldn't place what he was trying to say.

Mr. Brunner was a cool teacher; he wouldn't just pull me up in front of the entire class and tell me that I couldn't handle it. Especially after saying how he believed in me all year. It wouldn't make sense.

"Right," I said, though he must have taken my tone as something other than awkward.

"No, no," Mr. Brunner said. "Oh, confound it all. What I'm trying to say … you're not normal, AJ. That's nothing to be—"

"Thanks," I blurted. The situation was getting too awkward, and every moment I stood there I was feeling more and more pent up.

"AJ—"

But I was already gone. I tried not to feel bad about leaving like that. Mr. Brunner would probably feel guilty, thinking he caused some sort of emotional breakdown.

Then again, if he paid any sort of attention to me during the year, he should know better.

On the last day of the term, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase.

The other girls were joking around, talking about their vacation plans. One of them was going on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was cruising the Caribbean for a month. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were rich juvenile delinquents. Their parents were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a nobody, from a family of nobodies.

They asked me what I'd be doing this summer and though I didn't really care to talk to them, I figured I might as well leave on good terms with at least one person. I told them I was going back to the city.

What I didn't tell them was that I'd have to get a summer job walking dogs or selling magazine subscriptions, and spend my fee time worrying about where I'd go to school in the fall.

"Oh," one of the girls said. "That's cool."

They went back to their conversation as if I'd never existed.

The only person I didn't want to say goodbye to was Grover, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. He'd booked a ticket on the same Greyhound as I had, so there we were, together again, heading into the city.

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occurred to me that he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if he expected something bad to happen. Before, I'd always assumed he was worried about getting teased. But there was nobody to tease him on the Greyhound.

Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore.

I said, "Looking for Kindly Ones?"

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha-what do you mean?"

I sighed in exasperation, and confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner before the exam.

Grover's eye twitched. "How much did you hear?"

"Oh, not much. What's the summer solstice dead-line?"

He winced. "Look, AJ … I was just worried for you, see? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers…"

"Grover-"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and…"

I sighed in irritation. "Grover, you're a really, _really _bad liar."

His ears turned pink.

From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer."

The card was in fancy script, not exactly easy to read, but I finally made out something like:

Grover Underwood

Keeper

Half-Blood Hill

Long Island, New York

(800) 009-0009

I looked at the phone number oddly. "What's Half-"

"Don't say it aloud!" he yelped. "That's my, um … summer address."

My look of confusion was directed from the strange phone number back to Grover. A summer home? Him? I had never considered it before, but I suppose it would make sense, considering the other kids at Yancy.

"Okay," I said, my voice bland despite my confusion. I raised an eyebrow. "So, like, if I want to come visit your mansion…?"

He nodded. "Or … or if you need me."

"Why would I need you?"

My voice had an incredulous tone to it, making the question a bit harsher than I had intended.

Grover blushed right down to his Adam's apple. "Look, AJ, the truth is, I-I kind of have to protect you."

I blinked.

All year long, I had gotten in fights to defend him from bullies. The idea that _he _was protecting _me_ seemed ludicrous. Now, knew there were a lot of guys out there that thought all girls needed to be protected and that it was their job to do so—or they thought women couldn't protect themselves, anyway—but Grover definitely wasn't that kind of guy.

"Grover," I began, "What exactly are you protecting me from?"

There was a huge grinding noise under out feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard, and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes of clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off. Grover and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road—no place you'd notice if you didn't break down here. On our side of the highway was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good: heaping boxes of cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, jut three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean, these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basest of electric-blue yarn.

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandannas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses.

The weirdest thing was they seemed to be looking right at me.

For a moment, I entertained the thought of the Fates from Greek mythology, before pushing it aside. I had clearly spent more time studying for that exam than I should have.

"Tell me they're not looking at you." I heard Grover's voice from beside me. "They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh?"

I glanced back at the old ladies with the giant socks. I wonder if they would fit me?

I snorted in amusement.

"Not funny, AJ." I must have spoken out loud. "Not funny at all."

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors—gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I was suddenly filled with a strange sense of dread, and I heard Grover catch his breath beside me.

"We're getting on the bus," he told me. "Come on."

"What?" I said. "It's a thousand degrees in there."

Besides, I had a feeling that getting on the bus wouldn't have made a difference.

"Come on!" He pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back.

Across the road, the old ladies were still watching me. The sense of dread inside of me reached its peak, and the middle one cut the yarn. I heard the snip across four lanes of traffic, and the sense of dread dissipated in an instant.

Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks.

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.

The passengers cheered.

"Damn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I'd caught the flu.

Grover didn't look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

"Grover?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling me?"

He dabbed his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "AJ, what did you see back at the fruit stand?"

"The old ladies? What is it about them? They're not like … Mrs. Dodds, are they?"

As soon as the words left my mouth, the answer came to my mind.

They were much, much worse.

My thoughts went back to the Fates. It _couldn't_ be. But then, Mrs. Dodds had turned into a monster before my eyes. No … not just any monster.

A Fury. That's what she was, though I didn't know how I knew it.

Grover's expression was hard to read. He said, "Just tell me what you saw."

"The middle one took out her scissors, and she cut the yarn." The Fates, and thread.

He closed his eyes and made a gesture with his fingers that might've been crossing himself, but it wasn't. I could tell it was something older.

He said, "You saw her snip the cord."

"Yeah, so?" It meant something, but I couldn't remember what. It was something obvious; I just couldn't place my finger on it.

"This is not happening," Grover mumbled. He started chewing at his thumb. "I don't want this to be like last time."

"What last time?"

"Always sixth grade. They never get past sixth."

"Grover," I said, because he was really starting to creep me out. That in itself was a feat. "What are you talking about?"

"Let me walk you home from the bust station. Promise me."

This seemed like a strange request to me, and only served to creep me out further, but I promised he could.

"Is this like a—"I was cut off as my brain seemed to find the files on the Fates.

The Fates, the thread of life… they cut the thread, right in front of me. I swallowed.

"Grover—that snipping of the yarn. Does that mean that someone is going to die?"

He looked at me mournfully, like he was already picking the kind of flowers I'd like best on my coffin.

* * *

**Done.**

**Just so you know, nobody is beta-reading this story, and I'm often too lazy to double check my work. So sorry about the mistakes you find. Please tell me about them if you want them fixed.**

**Also, I typed this chapter up a couple of days ago. I stopped in the middle because I was tired. I meant to go back in change something, but I forgot what it was by the time I woke up the next morning, so if something seems.. off, then that's why.**

**Read and review!**


	3. The Goat That Stalks Me

**Hello again my lovelies. I'm here with another update!**

**I just have a few things to say before you can really get started.**

**_THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT_**

**1. The story title. After looking into it some, I found that some places call them "Primeval" while others call them "Primordial" ... well, I looked up the definitions for both, and it seems that "Primeval" doesn't really fit their purpose in the story. So, on my next update I will also be changing the title either "Creation of the Primordials" or "Creation of the Protogenoi" ... the latter seems to over all bases, but yeah. I'm not doing it now because that's just too soon!**

**2. I won't always update this frequently. Don't expect my next chapter for another week at least, and then you'll probably star seeing regularly, weekly updates. The only reason this is up here is because I had a friend look over the previous chapters and I didn't want to be the jerk that gets your hopes up for a new chapter just to present a cleaned up version of chapters that have already been posted. Especially since this story is in such early stages.**

**3. That brings us to number three! The last two chapters HAVE been cleaned up, thanks to a friend of mind being so kind as to point out my many errors. She may have missed a few, though. I'm not really sure, I don't like to double check my work, it's extremely boring. That being said, this chapter will probably have many mistakes as well, though I did try to catch as many as I could in my somewhat lackluster look-over. **

**Please point out any mistakes there may be. Thanks.**

**Now, on with the main event!**

* * *

Chapter Three

The Goat That Stalks Me

I ditched Grover as soon as we got to the bus terminal.

I did feel bit guilt about it; Grover was the only real friend I had had in quite a while. But he was creeping me out, looking at me like I was a dead woman, muttering "Why does this always happen?" and "Why does it always have to be sixth grade?"

Whenever he got upset, Grover's bladder acted up, so I wasn't surprised when, as soon as we got off the bus, he made me promise to wait for him, and then made a beeline for the restroom. Instead of waiting, I got my suitcase, slipped outside, and caught the first taxi uptown.

"East One-hundred-and-fourth and First," I told the driver.

A word about my mother before you meet her.

Her name is Sally Jackson, and she's the best person in the world, which just proves my theory that the best people have the rottenest luck.

Her parents died in a plane crash when she was five, and she was raised by an uncle who didn't care much about her. She wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save enough money for a college with a good creative-writing program. Then her uncle got cancer, and she had to quit school her senior year to take care of him. After he died, she was left with no money, no family, and no diploma.

The only good break she ever got was meeting my father.

I don't have any memories of him, just this sort of warm glow, maybe the barest trace of his smile. My mother doesn't like to talk about him because it makes her sad. She has no pictures.

See, they weren't married. She told me he was rich and important, and their relationship was a secret. Then one day, he set sail across the Atlantic on some important journey, and he never came back.

Lost at sea, my mother told me. Not dead, lost at sea.

She worked odd jobs, took night classes to get her high school diploma, and raised me on her own. She never complained or got mad. Not even once. But I knew I wasn't an easy kid.

Finally, she married Gabe Ugliano, who was nice the first thirty seconds we knew him, and then showed is true colors as a world-class jerk. When I was young, I nicknamed him Smelly Gabe. He reeked like moldy garlic pizza wrapped in gym shorts.

These days I prefer Gabe Ugliasshole. Not very creative, but I think it suites him perfectly.

Between the two of us, we made my mother's life pretty hard. The way Gabe treated her, the way he and I got along … well, when I came home is a good example.

I walked into our little apartment, hoping my mother would be home from work. Instead, Gabe was in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blared ESPN. Chips and beer cans were strewn all over the carpet.

Hardly looking up, he said around his cigar, "So, you're home."

"Where my mother?

"Working," he said. "You got any cash?"

That was it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?

But, I suppose this was good. The fat ugly lump occasionally attempted to get … "handsy" with me on more than one occasion.

Gabe had put on weight. He looked like a tuskless walrus in thrift-store clothes. He had about three hairs on his head, all combed over his bald scalp, as if that made him handsome or something.

He managed the Electronic Mega-Mart in Queens, but he stayed home most of the time. I don't know why he hadn't been fired long before. He just kept on collecting paychecks, spending the money on cigars that made me nauseous, and on beer, of course. Always beer. Whenever I was home, he expected me to provide his gambling funds. He called that our "little secret." Meaning, if It old my mom, he would punch my lights out. Or maybe make another grab at me.

He was too slow to do either, so it didn't really matter.

"I don't have any cash," I told him tonelessly.

He raised a greasy eyebrow.

Gabe could sniff out money like a bloodhound, which was surprising, since his own smell should've covered up everything else.

"You took a taxi from the bus station," he said. "Probably paid with a twenty. Got six, seven bucks in change. Somebody expects to live under this roof; she ought to carry her own weight. Am I right, Eddie?"

Eddie, the super of the apartment building, looked at me with a twinge of sympathy. "Come on, Gabe," he said. "The kid just got here."

"Am I right?" Gabe repeated.

Eddie scowled into his bowl of pretzels. Pathetic.

The two other guys passed gas in harmony.

"Fine," I said. I dug a wad of dollars out of my pocket and threw the money on the table. "I hope you lose."

"Your report card came, girl!" he shouted after me. "I wouldn't act so snooty!"

I slammed the door to my room, which wasn't really my room. During the school months, it was Gabe's "study." He didn't study anything except for his dwindling supply of nudie mags, but he loved shoving my stuff in the closet, leaving his muddy boots on my windowsill, and doing his best to make the place smell like his nasty cologne, cigars, and stale beer.

I dropped my suitcase on the bed. Home sweet home.

Gabe's smell was almost worse than the nightmares about Mrs. Dodds, or the sound of the Fates' cheers snipping the yarn.

But as soon as I thought that, my legs felt week. I remembered Grover's look of panic-how he'd made me promise I wouldn't go home without me. A sudden hill rolled through me. I felt like someone—something—was looking for me right now, maybe pounding its way up the stairs, growing long, horrible talons.

Then I heard my mother's voice. "AJ?"

She opened the bedroom door, and my fears melted away.

My mother can make me feel good just by walking in the room. Her eyes sparkle and change color in the light. Her smile is as warm as a quilt. She's got a few grey streaks mixed in with her long brown hair, but I never think of her as old. When she looks me, it's like she's seeing all the good things about me, none of the bad. I've never heard her raise her voice or say an unkind word to anyone, not even me or Gabe.

"Oh, AJ." She hugged me tight. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas!"

Her red-white-and-blue Sweet on America uniform smelled like the best things in the world: chocolate, licorice, and all the other stuff she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central. She'd brought me a huge bag of "free samples," the way she always did when I came home.

We sat together on the edge of the bed. While I attacked the blueberry sour strings, she ran her hand through my hair and demanded to know everything I hadn't put in my letters. She didn't mention anything about my getting expelled. She didn't seem to care about that. But was I okay? Was her little girl doing all right?

I told her she was smothering me, and to lay off and all that, but secretly, I was really, really glad to see her.

From the other room, Gabe yelled, "Hey, Sally—how about some bean dip, huh?"

I gritted my teeth.

My mother is the nicest lady in the world. She should've been married to a millionaire, not some jerk like Gabe.

For her sake, I tried to put some emotion into my voice, tried to sound upbeat about my last days at Yancy Academy. I told her I wasn't too down about the expulsion. I'd lasted almost the whole year this time. I'd made some new friends. I'd done pretty well in Latin. And honestly, the fights hadn't been as bad as the headmaster said. I liked Yancy Academy. I really did. I put such a good spin on the year, I almost convinced myself. I started choking up, thinking about Grover and Mr. Brunner. Even Nancy Bobofit suddenly didn't seem so bad.

Until that trip to the museum…

"What?" my mother asked. Her eyes tugged at my conscience, trying to pull out the secrets. "Did something scare you?"

"No, Mom."

I felt bad about lying. I wanted to tell her about Mrs. Dodds and the Fates, but I thought it would sound stupid.

She pursed her lips. She knew I was holding back, but she didn't push me.

"I have a surprise for you," she said. "We're going to the beach."

My eyes widened. "Montauk?"

"Three nights-same cabin."

"When?"

She smiled. "As soon as I get changed."

I couldn't believe it. My mother and I hadn't been to Montauk the last two summers, because Gabe said there wasn't enough money.

Gabe appeared in the doorway and growled, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

I wanted to punch him, but I met my mother's eyes and I understood she was offering me a deal: be nice to Gabe for a little while. Just until she was ready to leave for Montauk. Then we would get out of here.

"I was on my way, honey," she told Gave. "We were just talking about the trip."

Gabe's eyes got small. "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"

"I knew it," I muttered. "He won't let us go."

"Of course he will," my mother aid evenly. "Your stepfather is just worried about money. That's all. Besides," she added, "Gabriel won't have to settle for bean dip. I'll make him enough seven-layer dip for the whole weekend. Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

Gabe softened a bit. "So this money for your trip … it comes out of your clothes budget, right?"

"Yes, honey," my mother said.

"And you won't take my care anywhere but there and back."

"We'll be very careful."

Gabe scratched his double chin. "Maybe if you hurry with that seven-layer dip … and maybe if the kid apologizes for interrupting my poker game."

Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, I thought. And make you sing soprano for a week.

But my mother's eyes warned me not to make him mad.

Why did she put up with this guy? Why did she care what he thought?

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I'm really sort I interrupted your incredibly important poker game. Please go back to it right now."

Gabe's eyes narrowed. His tiny brain was probably trying to detect sarcasm in my statement.

"Yeah, whatever," he decided.

He went back to his game.

"Thank you, AJ," my mother said. "Once we get to Montauk, we'll talk more about… whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?"

For a moment, I thought I saw anxiety in her eyes—the same fear I'd see in Grover during the bus ride—as if my mother too felt an odd chill in the air.

But then her smile returned, and I figured I must have been mistaken. She ruffled my hair and went to make Gabe his seven-layer dip.

An hour later we were ready to leave.

Gabe took a break from his poker game long enough to watch me lug my mother's back to the car. He kept griping and groaning about losing her cooking-and more important, hi '78 Camaro-for the whole weekend.

"Not a scratch on this car, you little freak," he warned me as I loaded the last bag. "Not one little scratch."

As if I would be the one driving. I was twelve.

But that didn't matter to Gabe. If a seagull so much as pooped on his paint job, he'd find a way to blame me.

Watching him lumber back toward the apartment building, I got so mad I did something I can't explain. As Gabe reached the doorway, I made the hand gesture I'd seen Grover make on the bus, a sort of warding-off-evil gesture, a clawed hand over heart, then a shoving movement toward Gabe. The screen door slammed shut so hard it whacked him in the butt and sent him flying up the staircase as if he'd shot from a cannon.

Maybe it was just the wind, or some freak accident with the hinges, but I didn't stay long enough to find out.

I got in the Camaro and told my mother to step on it.

Our rental cabin was on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It was a little pastel box with faded curtains, half sunken into the dunes. There was always sand in the sheets and spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea was too cold to swim in.

I loved the place.

We'd been going there since I was a baby. My mother had been going even longer. She never exactly said, but I knew why the beach was special to her. It was the place she'd met my father.

As we got closer to Montauk, she seemed to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. Her eyes turned the color of the sea.

We got there at sunset, opened all the cabin's windows, and went through our usual cleaning routine. We walked on the beach, fed blue corn chips to the seagulls, and munched on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples my mom had brought from work.

I guess I should explain the blue food. See, Gabe once told my mom there was no such thing. They had this fight, which seemed like a really small thing at the time. But ever since, my mom went out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes. She mixed blueberry smoothies. She bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop. This-along with keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rater than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano-was proof that she wasn't totally suckered by Gabe. She did have a rebellious streak, like me.

When it got dark, we made a fire. We roasted hot dogs and marshmallows. Mom told me stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents died in the plane crash. She told me about the books she wanted to write someday, when she had enough money to quit the candy shop.

Eventually, I got up the nerve to ask about what was always on my mind whenever we came to Montauk—my father. Mom's eyes went all misty. I figured she would tell me all the same things she always did, but I never got tired of hearing them.

"He was kind, AJ," she said. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle, too. You have his black hair, you know."

One thing that confused me were my own eyes. My mother's were normally a soft blue color—though they changed with the lighting. My father, my mother told me, had green eyes. My eyes were weird. They were a pale violet color, yet the center of my eye looked as if purple food coloring was seeping from my pupil and into the iris. That purple was much sharper and more defined in color than the rest.

It had a strange affect. I was picked on a lot because of them as a kid—sort of why I can kick butt so well, I had to learn early. They often freaked people out, but my mother thought they were beautiful.

Not to sound conceited, but did as well. They were unique. I didn't know who I had gotten them from, though.

Mom fished a blue jelly bean out of her candy back. "I wish he could see you, AJ. He would be so proud."

I wondered how she could say that. What was so great about me? A bad tempered girl with a C+ report card, kicked out of school for the sixth time in six years and incredibly destructive when bored.

"How old was I?" I asked. "I mean … when he left?"

She watched the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, AJ. Right here at this beach. This cabin."

"But … he knew me as a baby."

"No, honey. He knew I was expecting a baby, but never saw you. He had to leave before you were born."

I tried to square that with the fact that I seemed to remember … something about my father. A warm glow. A smile.

I had always assumed he knew me as a baby. My mother never said it outright, but still, I'd felt it must be true. Now, to e told that he'd never even seen me…

I felt angry at my father. Maybe it was stupid, but I resented him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guys to marry my mother. He'd let us, and now we were stuck with Gabe.

"Are you going to send me away again?" I asked her. "To another boarding school?"

She pulled a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey." Her voice was heavy. "I think … I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around?"

I regretted the words as soon as they were out.

My mother's eyes welled with tears. She took my hand, squeeze it tight. "Oh, AJ, no. I-I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away."

Her words reminded me of what Mr. Brunner had said—that it was best for me to leave Yancy.

"Because I'm not normal," I stated blandly.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing, AJ. But you don't realize how important you are. I thought Yancy Academy would be far enough away. I thought you'd finally be safe."

"Safe from what?"

She met my eyes, and a flood of memories came back to me—all the weird, scary things that had ever happened to me, some of which I'd tried to forget.

During third grade, a man in a black trench coat had stalked me on the playground. When the teachers threatened to call the police, he went away growling, but no one believed me when I told him that under his broad-brimmed hat, the man only had one eye, right in the middle of his head.

Before that—a really early memory. I was in preschool, and a teacher accidentally put me down for a nap n a cot tat a snake had slithered into. My mom screamed when she came to pick me up and found me playing with a limp, scaly rope I'd somehow managed to strangle to death with my meaty toddler hands.

In every single school, something creepy had happened, something unsafe, and I was forced to move.

I knew I should tell my mother about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds at the art museum, about discovering that my math teacher had actually been a Fury in disguise. But I couldn't make myself tell her. I knew it would end our trip to Montauk, and I didn't want that.

"I've tried to keep you as close to me as I could," my mom said. "They told me that was a mistake. But there's only one other option, AJ—the place your father wanted to send you. And I just … I just can't stand to do it."

"My father wanted to me to go to a special school?"

"Not a school," she said softly. "A summer camp."

My head was spinning. Why would my father—who hadn't even stayed long enough to see me born—talk to my mother about a summer camp? And if it was so important, why hadn't she ever mentioned it before? It didn't make any sense.

"I'm sorry, AJ," she said, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I-I couldn't send you to that place. It might mean saying good-bye to you for good."

"For good? But if it's only a summer camp…"

She turned toward the fire, and I knew from her expression that if I asked her any more questions she would start to cry.

That night I had a vivid dream.

It was storming on the beach, and two beautiful animals, a white horse and a golden eagle, were trying to kill each other at the edge of the surf. The eagle swooped down and slashed the horse's muzzle with its huge talons. The horse reared up and kicked at the eagles wings.

As they fought the ground rumbled, and a monstrous voice chuckled somewhere beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder.

Somewhere in my mind I registered that the voice in the ground was somewhat familiar, but I had no time to dwell on it. I had to stop the two majestic looking creatures from maiming one another.

I ran toward the, but I was running in slow motion. An oppressive force weighed my body down—I was running in slow motion. I strained my mind and body, but the more I willed myself to move faster, the more oppressive the force working on me became.

There was no way I would make it in time. I saw the eagle dive down, its beak aimed at the horse's wide yes. A sense of doom and hopelessly filled my sluggish body, and I gasped, _No!_

I woke with a start.

Outside, it really was storming; the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There was no horse or eagle on the beat, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery.

With the next thunderclap, my mother woke. She sat up, eyes wide, and said, "Hurricane." /I knew that was crazy. Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seemed to have forgotten. Over the roar of the wind, I heard a distant bellow, and angry, tortured sound that made my hair stand on end.

Then a much closer noise, like mallets in the sand. A desperate voice-someone yelling, pounding on our cabin door.

My mother sprang out of bed in her nightgown and threw open the lock.

Grover stood framed in the doorway against a backdrop of pouring rain. But he wasn't exactly Grover.

"Searching all night," he gasped. "What were you thinking?"

My mother looked at me in terror-not scared of Grover, but of why he'd come. "AJ," she said, shouting to be heard over the rain. "What happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"

I was frozen, staring at Grover. I couldn't understand what I was seeing; it was stranger than my math teacher turning into a Fury before my eyes.

"O Zeu kai alloi theoi!" he yelled. "It's right behind me! Didn't you tell her?"

I was too shocked to register that he'd just cursed in Ancient Greek, and I'd understood him perfectly.

I was too shoved to wonder how Grover had gotten here by himself in the middle of the night, or to contemplate how I had managed to get the world's greatest stalker as a friend.

Because Grover didn't have his pants on—and where his legs should be ... where his legs should be...

My mom looked at me sternly and talked in a tone she'd never used before: "AJ. Tell me now!"

I stammered something about the Fates at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds the Fury, and my mother stared at me, her face deathly pale in the flashed of lightning.

She grabbed her purse, tossed me my rain jacket, and said, "Get to the car. Both of you. Go!"

Grover ran for the Camaro-but he wasn't running, exactly. He was trotting, shaking his shaggy hindquarters, and suddenly I knew his story about a muscular disorder in his legs was a lie.

Because where his feet should be, there were no feet. There were cloven hooves.

* * *

**All done!**

**I hope you don't mind Gabe's new nickname. "Smelly Gabe" just seemed a bit too juvenile for this version of Percy to keep, and "Ugliasshole" seemed like a perfect twist on his name for AJ, without being overtly clever at the same time so it still has a childlike quality to it.**

**Also, I hope I did a well enough job explaining her eyes. The paragraph about that may have seemed out of place, I'm not sure, everything looks differently when you're typing this stuff as you go along, rather than reading it in an already set order.**

**You'll notice that AJ is sticking very close to canon Percy in most of this chapter, and doesn't resemble a whole lot of her indifferent, mildly insane, and always bored nature. She's a bit overwhelmed right now, so there isn't really many other reactions she can have. And it's still pretty early, so she doesn't have anything from the "real world" of Demigods acting on her yet.**

**One last thing: I had originally planned for AJ's mom to call her "Percy" because Sally was dead set on the name Perseus (which is why it's AJ's middle name). But as I was writing, the explanation seemed a bit forced in there, and I thought it might be confusing to have "Atalanta Perseus Jackson" be called 'Atalanta' 'AJ' _and _'Percy.' That just seems to be a bit much, you know?**

**Look at me rambling on!**

**You know what to do! Read, review, text me, call me, send me nudes (GIRLS ONLY).**

**Joking.**

**But really, read and review or I'll eat your babies.**


	4. The Minotaur's Last Mistake

**Yeah, so just forget everything I said before about chapters being farther apart. I couldn't resist uploading this.**

**So, I'll just upload whenever I damn well please for now, and give myself deadlines when I start to slow down in my writing.**

**Here's the new chapter. Sorry for any mistakes. I DO actually use the spell check function, but sometimes that does more harm than good... and more often than not the mistakes I make are actual words-just in the wrong context, form, tense, whatever.**

**Anyway, as I stated before, the story name has been changed. **

**That's all I have to say here so... yeah, enjoy.**

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Chapter Four

The Minotaur's Last Mistake

We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the windshield. I didn't know how my mother could see anything, but she kept her foot on the gas.

Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Grover net to e in the backseat and I entertained the idea that I had gone insane.

But I knew that wasn't the case, just like I knew Mrs. Dodds was a Fury, and that the three old women at the fruit stand were the Fates.

Grover was a satyr. Half man, half goat. My head was spinning. Fates, Furies, Satyrs… they were all real. The Greek myths were real—as real as the smell of wet barnyard animal that invaded my senses.

I tried to clear my head of this disturbing new information, which was surprisingly easy. Once I had regained my senses, I spoke. "So, you and my mom… know each other?"

Grover's eyes flitted to the rearview mirror, though there were no cars behind us. "Not exactly," he said. "I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you."

"Watching me?" I shivered at the thought of Grover's brown eyes peeking at me behind the shower curtains, then cursed my imagination that seemed to enjoy giving me the creepiest, and most perverted scenarios.

"Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I am your friend."

I eyed him warily for a moment, and then nodded. "So… my best friend is a Satyr?"

He looked at me, a mildly surprised expression etched on his face.

"How did you-"

"And Mrs. Dodds was a fury."

His face expression changed from surprised to alarmed in an instant.

"AJ, you really shouldn't-"

"Those old ladies really were the Fates, then?"

"AJ!" my mother said from the driver's seat, her voice stern.

"No wonder it's after us…" Grover murmured.

"What?"

"We put the Mist of the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the Kindly One was a hallucination. The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract, but it was no good. You started to realize who you are."

"Who I—wait, what? What do you mean?"

The weird bellowing noise rose up again from somewhere behind us, much closer than before. Whatever was chasing us was still on our tail.

"AJ," my mother said, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety."

"Safety from what? Who's after me?"

"Oh, nobody much," Grover said, his eyes full of panic. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions."

"Grover!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?"

I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening, but it was a struggle. I knew this wasn't a dream, and I knew I was insane. This was really happening, but it was still hard to grasp.

My mother made a hard left. We swerved onto a narrower road, racing pat darkened farmhouses and wooded hills and _PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES _signs on white picket fences.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"The summer camp I told you about." My mother's voice was tight; she was trying for my sake not to be scared. "The place your father wanted to send you."

"The place you didn't want me to go."

"Please, dear," my mother begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger."

"Because the Fates cut my life thread."

They were silent, and Grover looked pale enough to be a ghost. I saw my mother's grip on the steering wheel tighten.

She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid—a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm.

"What was that?" I asked.

"We're almost there," my mother said, ignoring the question.

"Another mile. Please. Please. Please."

I didn't know where there was, but I found myself leaning forward in the car, anticipating, wanting us to arrive.

Outside, nothing but rain and darkness—the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. I thought about Mrs. Dodds and the moment when transformed into the creature with pointed teeth and leathery wings—a Fury. My limbs went numb from delayed shock. I had known what she was before, but now… now it finally seemed to hit me.

A vicious monster of legends had tried to kill me.

Then I thought about Mr. Brunner and the sword he had thrown me. Before I could even begin to contemplate that, the hair on the back of my neck rose. There was a blinding flash, a jaw rattling _BOOM!_, and our car exploded.

I remember feeling weightless, like I was being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the same time.

I peeled my forehead off the back of the driver's seat and groaned.

"AJ!" my mother shouted.

"I'm okay…"

I tried to shake off the daze. I wasn't dead.

The car hadn't really exploded. We'd swerved into a ditch. Our driver's-side doors were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in.

Lightning. That was the only explanation.

We'd been blasted right off the road. Next to me in the backseat was a big motionless lump. "Grover!"

He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. I shook his furry hip, thinking, _No! Even if you are half barnyard animal, you're my best friend and I don't want you to die!_

Then he groaned "Food," and I knew there was hope.

"AJ," my mother said, "we have to…" her voice faltered.

I looked back. In a flash of light, through the mud-splattered windshield, I saw a figure lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns.

I swallowed hard. I hadn't actually been afraid of anything for a long time. Then Mrs. Dodds turns into a fury and suddenly my life is full of fear and uncertainty.

"Who is—"

"AJ," my mother said, deadly serious. "Get out of the car."

My mother threw herself against the driver's-side door. IT was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine. Stuck too. I looked desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking.

"Climb out the passenger's side!" my mother told me. "AJ—you have to run. Do you see that big tree?"

"What?"Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant: a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crease of the nearest hill.

"That's the property line," my mother said. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door.

"Mom, you're coming too."

Her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean.

"No!" I shouted. "You _are_ coming with me. Help me carry Grover."

"Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder.

The man with the blanket on his head kept coming toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, I realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head, because his hands—huge meaty hands—were swinging at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head… was his head. And the points that looked like horns…

"He doesn't want us," my mother told me. "He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line."

"But…"

"We don't have time, AJ. Go. Please."

I got mad, then—mad at my mother, at Grover the goat, at the thing with horns lumbering toward us slowly and deliberately like a bull.

I climbed across Grover and pushed the door open into the rain. "We're going together. Come on, Mom."

"I told you—"

"Mom! I am not leaving you. Help me with Grover."

I didn't wait for her answer. I scrambled outside, dragging Grover from the car. He was surprisingly light, but I couldn't have carried him very far if my mother hadn't come to my aid.

Together, we draped Grover's arms over our shoulders and started stumbling uphill through the wet, waist-high grass.

Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the monster. He was seven feet tall, easy, his arms and legs like something from the cover of a Muscle Man magazine—bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. He wore no close except underwear—I mean, bright white Fruit of the Looms—would have made me laugh in a different situation. And if the top half of his body wasn't so terrifying. Coarse brown hair started at about his belly button and got thicker as it reached his shoulders.

His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns-enormous black-and-white horns with points that looked sharper than any blade.

I recognized the monster. He had been in one of the first stories Mr. Brunner told us about.

I blinked the rain out my eyes. "That's—"

"Pasiphae's son," my mother interjected.

"I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you."

I blinked and realized that my mother was having a serious panic attack if she said something so blatantly worrying in my presence.

"But he's the Min—"

"Don't say his name," she warned. "Names have power."

The pine tree was still too far—a hundred yards uphill at least.

I glanced behind me again.

The bull-man hunched over our car, looking in the windows—or not looking, exactly. He seemed to be snuffling, nuzzling. I realized that he was trying to find us by smell, which seemed odd. Maybe his eyesight was bad.

"Food?" Grover moaned.

"Shhh," I told him.

"He'll figure out where we are soon enough. He his sight and hearing are terrible, but there it's not raining hard enough to wash away our scent completely."

As if on cue, but bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded.

_Not a scratch,_ I remembered Gabe saying.

I snorted in amusement, despite our situation. _Oops._

"AJ," my mother said. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, and then jump out o the way—directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?"

I wanted to ask her how she knew this, but I knew it wasn't the time. I would ask her after we made it to safety.

"I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping you near me.

"Keeping me near you?" I was confused, a feeling I was quickly becoming very familiar with. "But—"

Another bellow of rage, and the bull-man started tromping uphill.

He'd smelled us.

The pine tree was only a few yards away, but the hill was getting steeper and slicker, and Grover wasn't getting any lighter.

The bull-man closed in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of us.

My mother must've been exhausted, but she shouldered Grover. "Go, AJ! Separate! Remember what I said."

I didn't want to split up, but I knew she was right—it was our only chance. I sprinted to the left, turned, and saw the creature bearing down on me. His black eyes glowed with hate.

He reeked like rotten meat.

He lowered his head and charged, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at my chest.

The fear in my stomach made me want to bolt, but that wouldn't work. I could never outrun this thing.

So I held my ground, and at the last moment, I jumped to the side.

The bull-man stormed past like a freight train, then bellowed in frustration and turned, but not toward me this time, toward my mother, who was setting Grover down in the grass.

We'd reached the crest of the hill. Down the other side I could see a valley, just as my mother had said and the lights of farmhouse glowing yellow through the rain. But that was half a mile away. We'd never make it.

The bull-man grunted, pawing the ground. He kept eyeing my mother, who was now retreating slowly downhill, back toward the road, trying to lead the monster away from Grover.

"Run, AJ!" she told me. "I can't go any farther. Run!"

But I just stood there, frozen in fear and filled with dread as the monster charged at her. She tried to sidestep, as she'd told me to do, but the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck as she tried to get away. He lifter her up as she struggled, kicking and pummeling the air.

"Mom!"

She caught my eyes, managed to choke out on last word: "Go!"

Then, with an angry roar, the monster closed his fists around my mother's neck, and she dissolved before y eyes, melted into light, a shimmering golden form, as if she were a holographic projection. A blinding flash, and she was simply … gone.

"No!"

Anger replaced my fear. The world brightened before my very eyes, as if someone had suddenly turned on the sun. I noticed every detail around me; I saw every single drop of rain as it fell to the ground.

Newfound strength burned in my limbs—the same rush of energy I'd gotten when Mrs. Dodds grew talons. Only stronger.

The bull-man bore down on Grover, who lay helpless in the grass. The monster hunched over, snuffling my best friend as if he were about to lift Grover up and make him dissolve too.

I couldn't allow that.

I don't know how I did it, or how I knew what to do. It just came to me. My eyes focused on a spot on the bull-man. The entire world seemed to slow down; rain drops stopped shooting to the ground, instead falling through the air slowly at a snail's pace.

But I didn't focus on them.

My eyes bore into the monster, the monster that had taken to my mother. I hated him. Hate for the disgusting abomination coursed through my veins. Then it happened.

The flesh on the monster's side began to dissolve, as if being burned away by acid. The bull-man seemed to moan in pain as one of his large hands moved in slow motion to grasp the forming hole. Only, as soon as his hand moved to the dissolving flesh and entered my line of sight, it too began to dissolve.

The process seemed to quicken, dissolving the entire hand in seconds and leaving only a stub.

The hole in his side was growing and the creature turned to me. My eyes now bore into his stomach, and once more his flesh began to dissolve. I concentrated and harnessed all of my hatred for this horrifying result of lust gone wrong, as if forcing my hatred into an energy that burned away at the creature.

He began to charge again, and even though his movements were slow, I knew that he would make it to me before he disappeared completely.

I tried to move my eyes downward, to dissolve his legs into nothingness, but there was a searing pain in my eyes. Every movement of my eyes, no matter how small seemed to shoot waves of pain through me. The beast was getting closer and closer—he was moving in slow motion, but he had somehow gotten so close already.

With a pain-filled moan escaped my mouth as I forced my eyes to gaze on his leg. He was only a few feet away when his leg began to dissolve. The sudden shift in weight must have put him off balanced, and the monster tripped. His speed sent him flying through the air. I vaguely registered the fact that he seemed to get slower and slower, the closer he came towards me.

The dissolving sped up, and in less than a second of being airborne his entire leg was gone. Then the other. He was still flying towards me, but now he was going far too slow for it to matter. My eyes drifted to his midsection, and then to his chest. Every part of his body my eyes gazed upon was erased.

The pain in my eyes had increased tenfold, and I knew I didn't have much time left. It didn't matter, though, because the only thing left was his horned head flying through the air.

I wanted to finish the job.

I looked into his eyes, which were wide with horror, though I knew that he no longer saw me. He now longer saw anything, and he never would again.

His eyes quickly dissolved, leaving behind empty eye sockets, before those dissolved as well—followed the by the rest of his head.

The pain became too much, and I clenched my eyes shut. Time seemed to resume its normal pace as I felt the raindrops pelting me once more. I heard the sound of a something hard hitting the tree behind me, and I felt the strange urge to apologize to it.

I shook the feeling, and though of Grover, who was still lying in the grass. I had to see if he was okay.

I opened my eyes once again, but I saw nothing. The world was black. A cold feeling clutched my heart. Had whatever I had just done taken my eyesight?

I tried to calm myself. I couldn't worry about that just yet. I had to find Grover and make sure he was okay. I had to get him some help. I stepped forward, prepared to feel my way over to him if I had to, but as soon as my foot touched the ground again, my body gave out.

I fell to the ground, and the last thing I knew before falling unconscious was the feeling of my face slamming into the muddy ground below.

* * *

**Wasn't that fun? **

**I had this chapter written about the same way as the original, but then when I thought about the Minotaur, I realized that I _could _actually add in major difference here and it wouldn't hinder the plot I planned. In fact, this actually gives the story a boost in just the direction I needed to go.**

**I hope the descriptions weren't too awkward. I'm not horribly confident in my writing, so some positive reviews would be very happily accepted. Actually, criticism would help too. Just as long as it's constructive and polite. Otherwise you're just asking me to ignore you.  
**

**Yeah, thanks. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**

**P.S. - You'll notice that my grammar and spelling in author's notes are _terrible_. That's because I type these up right before I post the chapter, and I don't typically bother to spell check it because they don't actually add on to the story. Sorry, there's bound to be hundreds of mistakes in them.**

**P.P.S. - People have messaged me about pairings, and there was a review pertaining to them. I have no idea what that pairing will be, but it will be quite a while before it happens. There may not even be a pairing. **

**As a direct response to the review: I have thought about pairing AJ with a girl. In fact, that was probably my first thoughts on the pairing. Trust me, I'm considering it, and I really don't want to do one of the same old pairings that has been done to death. If I do a pairing, I'll probably pick one of the most flexible characters in the story. And there are a lot, considering it's in first person so we see everything from what Percy sees.**

**And, a response to another view: I won't be making Annabeth male. I like Annabeth as she is. I can gender bend Percy, Naruto, and Harry, but when I think about a female Ron, male Annabeth, Sakura, or a male Hermione I become uncomfortable with the idea.**

**They just don't seem like characters that can (or _should _be) gender switched.**


	5. D is for Douchebag

**Okay guys, first I want to say that I HATE HATE HATE, when authors do this. At the same time, I understand the reasoning.**

**So.. this is just an author's note, I'm afraid. Figured I owed you guys an explanation.**

**I've been busy with school, dealing with financial aid issues all of that sexy, sexy stuff. I was also out of town this entire week for Fall Break, and didn't really have much time for writing. So, I'm way behind where I should be at this point, but that's okay.**

**I'm STILL in the process of writing the fifth chapter. I know, I know...**

**I got a bit of writers block in the middle of it, and then school hit me like a truck so... yeah, but anyway, I WILL have this chapter out before this week ends. You can probably expect it on Wednesday.**

**That's all I have to say, sorry for taking so long! And sorry for possibly getting your hopes up, thinking this was the next chapter. Again, I hate when authors do that, but... yeah. xD**

**Thanks for the reviews, and follows. (ESPECIALLY THE REVIEWS) More story to come!**

...

**Alright, now I need to add onto that message. Sorry I was late. This week has been... just hell.**

**Super stressful, generally depressing... ugh. **

**I want to apologize for the extra wait, AND for the quality of this chapter. I made countless separate attempts to write this, and it may not flow well. I'm not going to spell bother even slightly looking over this one. I'm tired, feel like shit, and these needs to get out so I'm at least slightly up to date. I'll probably rewrite this later, but for now it'll stay the way it is.**

**Sorry, hope it doesn't cost me too many people. Enjoy the story.**

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Chapter Five

D Is For Douchebag

I had weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food.

I must've woken up several times, but the only thing I could see is darkness, and the things I heard made no sense so I just passed out again. There was a strange pressure on my eyes, that made me realize that something was wrapped around my head to cover them. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. A girl with curly hair hovered over me.

I don't know how I knew it was a girl at the time, or how I knew that her hair was curly. I could just… feel it.

She must have noticed I was awake, because she asked, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

I managed to croak, "What?"

I felt her head move around, as if she was scanning her surroundings for other people, afraid they would overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"What the hell…" I mumble, "What are you talking about…"

Somebody knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled my mouth with pudding.

I tried not to let my perverted thoughts rule my mind. I was far too tired.

The next time I woke up, the girl was gone, but I could feel another presence in the corner of the room.

The man was husky and no doubt keeping watch over me. Though, I felt more than one set of eyes on me.

When I finally came around for good, I could see. There was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than I was used to. I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across the meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt.

On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry.

My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it.

"Careful," a familiar voice said.

Grover was leaning against the porch railing, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradled a shoe box. He was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shit that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD. Just plain old Grover, not the goat boy.

It almost made me think I'd had a nightmare, but I knew better than that. My mother was gone.

"You saved my life," Grover said. "I… well, the least I could do … I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Reverently, he placed the shoe box in my lap.

Inside was a black-and-white bull's horn, the base smooth, as if it had been carefully cut off.

"It's… it's all that was left." His, voice seemed uneasy, with a slight twinge of confusion.

"The Minotaur," I said.

"Um, AJ, it isn't a good idea—"

"That's what they call him in the Greek myths, isn't it?" I demanded. "The Minotaur. Half man, half bull."

Grover shifted uncomfortably. "You've been out for almost a week. How much do you remember?"

"Everything. You coming to our cabin, the Minotaur, my mother…"

He looked down.

I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Looking at it only increased my sense of loss, but I couldn't deny that it looked beautiful in the sunlight.

My mother was gone. The whole world should be black and cold. Nothing should look beautiful.

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffled. "I'm a failure. I'm-I'm the worst satyr in the world."

He moaned, stomping his foot so hard that the Converse hi-top came off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole. I didn't understand why he was wearing it, this was where he… _worked_, wasn't it? They would know he was a satyr. So why…?

"Oh, Styx!" he mumbled

Thunder rolled across the clear sky.

As he struggled to get his hoof back in the fake foot, stared at him. No doubt if I shaved his curly brown hair, I'd find horns on his head.

I was alone. An orphan. I would have to live with… Gabe? No. That would never happen. I would live on the streets first. I would pretend I was seventeen and join the army. I would do something.

Grover was still sniffling. The poor guy looked as if he expected to be hit.

I wasn't one for consoling people, and given my emotional state, I was in no mood to either. But Grover was my friend. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you."

"But why…" I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision swimming.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover said. "Here." He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips.

I recoiled at the taste. I was expecting apple juice, and this was nowhere near it.

It was chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies. And not just any cookies—my mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy. But my grief didn't go away. It only got worse. A reminder of what I had lost.

Talk about adding insult to injury.

I drained the glass, regardless. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

"Was it good?" Grover asked.

I nodded.

"What did it taste like?" He asked, wistfully.

"Chocolate-chip cookies," I said. "My mother's. Homemade."

He sighed. "And how do you feel?"

"Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards."

"That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff."

"What do you mean?"

He took the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse.

My legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far. Grover offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but I held on to it. I had lost my mother, and nearly my eyesight to get it. I wasn't going to let it go.

As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath.

We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail. I noticed that some of the horses had wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. A blond girl with hair curled like a princess was leaning on the rail next to them. I instantly identified her as the girl that had fed me the popcorn-flavored pudding when I was blindfolded.

The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those painting of baby angels. Cherubs. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park.

He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, and he would've fit right in at one of Gabe's poker parties, except I got the feeling this guy could've out-gambled even my walrus of a step-father.

"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron…"

He pointed at the guy whose back was to me.

First, I realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard.

"Mr. Brunner!" I cried.

The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B.

"Ah, good, AJ," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you."

"Um… thanks. I guess." I scooted a little further away from him, because if there was one thing I had learned from living with my disgusting step-father, it was how to tell when an adult has been hitting the happy juice. If Mr. d was a stranger to alcohol, I was a satyr.

"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blonde girl.

She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady nursed you back to health, AJ. Annabeth, my dead, why don't you go check on AJ's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now."

Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron."

She was probably my age, maybe a couple of inches taller and more athletic looking.

With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image.

They were startling grey, like storm clouds; pretty, but pretty intimidating, too, as if she was analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight.

Then she glanced at my own violet orbs, and seemed to flinch back before she caught herself. I resisted the urge to smile. Normally people were frightened of my eyes (or they gawked like idiots) and normally I hated it, but I took pride in the fact that my eyes were more intimidating than her own.

She glanced at the horn in my hands, then back at me. She opened her mouth, as if she was about to say something, but then seemed to think better of it.

She nodded at me, and then sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.

"So," I said, "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?"

"No Mr. Brunner," the ex-Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

_Chiron?_ I thought to myself, _Like the centaur that trained Achilles?_

"Okay." I said, before my thoughts could get away from me. I looked at the director. "And Mr. D … does that stand for something?"

Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just belched loudly. "Little girl, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason."

I bristled at being called 'little girl' but that didn't stop me from thinking about how stupid his statement sounded. For no reason? When you wish to identify something, you use its name. Now, if he just didn't like his name then I could understand that. I mean, I go by AJ, after all…

I sighed, and decided it wouldn't be good if I pissed off the camp director so soon.

"Right."

"I must say, AJ," Chiron broke in, "I'm glad to see you alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

I felt a bit offended, having my death being pushed aside as a 'waste of time' but I let it pass. "House call?"

"My year at Yancy Academy, instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to … ah, take a leave of absence.

I tried to remember the beginning of the school year. It seemed like so long ago, but I did have a fuzzy memory of there being another Latin teacher my first week at Yancy. Then, without explanation, he had disappeared and Mr. Brunner had taken the class.

"You came to Yancy just to teach me?" I asked.

Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother; let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

A test? Making it to camp alive with no clue who we are, and no ability to defend ourselves in a world full of monsters that we wouldn't know about until they came for us was a _TEST?_

"Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "Are you playing or not?"

"Yes, sir!"Grover trembled as he took a fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.

"You do you know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously.

"I'm afraid not," I said.

"I'm afraid not, sir," he insisted.

"Sire," I repeated through gritted teeth. I was starting to hate the camp director more and more, but at least I had my answer.

The D stood for Douchebag.

"Well," he told me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized children to know the rules."

"Please," I said, "What is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun-Chiron-why would you go to Yancy just to teach me?"

Mr. Douchebag snorted. "I asked the same question."

The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile.

Chiron smiled at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. He expected me to have the right answer.

"AJ," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?"

"She said…" I remembered her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told me she was afraid to send here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me close to her."

"Typical," Mr. Douchebag said. "That's how they usually get killed. Little girl, are you bidding or not?"

"What?" I asked, barely containing my anger.

"He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient."

"Orientation film?" I asked.

"No," Chiron decided. "Well, AJ. You know your friend Grover is satyr. You know—he pointed to the horn in the show box—"that you have killed the Minotaur." _So now we can say its name? _"No small feat either, lass. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods—the forced you call the Greek gods—are very much alive."

I stared around the table.

Mr. Douchebag yelled," Oh! A royal marriage! Trick! Trick!" he cackled as he tallied up his points.

"Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right."

Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully.

"Wait," I told Chiron. "You're telling me that there's a such thing as god."

"Well, now," Chiron said. "God—capital G, God. That's a different matter all together." That seemed to stir something inside me. Something that told me it wasn't a such different matter…

I shrugged it off.

"Gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter."

"Zeus," I said. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them."

And there it was again-distant thunder on a cloudless day.

"Little girl," said Mr. Douchebag, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you."

"But they're stories," I protested. Even if the monsters existed, there was no way the gods could. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science."

"Science!" Mr. Douchebag scoffed. "And tell me, Atalanta Jackson," my twitched in annoyance, "what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. Douchebag continued. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals-they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this girl and tell me."

I was going to say something about how this 'science' he spoke of so disdainfully was made based on theories, and then those theories were tested, rather than the blind faith in gods, but something stopped me. The way he called me a mortal, as if… he wasn't.

It was enough to put a lump in my throat, to suggest why Grover was dutifully minding his cards, chewing his soda can, and keeping his mouth shut.

"AJ," Chiron said, "You may choose to believe me or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"

I thought about that for a moment. It seemed like a good deal to me, but the tone of Chiron's voice told a different story.

"You mean, whether people believed in you or not," I said.

"Exactly," Chiron agreed. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, AJ, that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how little girls can get over losing their mothers?"

My eyes stung at that insensitive comment, but not from tears. I blinked away the rising sensation, and my legs felt wobbly for a moment, but it faded quickly. Chiron hadn't seemed to notice.

For some reason, he was trying to make me angry. I wasn't going to let it. "I don't care about what others think, and I don't believe in gods."

"Oh, you'd better," Mr. Douchebag murmured. "Before one o them incinerates you."

Grover said, "P-please, sir. She's just lost her mother. She's in shock."

"A lucky thing, too," Mr. Douchebag grumbled, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with children who don't even believe."

He waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine.

My eyes widened in disbelief, and the name hit me as if I were an expert on Greek mythology.

Dionysus.

"Mr. D," Chiron warned, "Your restrictions."

Dionysus looked at the wine and feigned surprise.

"Dear me." He looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits, sorry!"

More thunder.

Dionysus waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game.

Chiron winked at me. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits."

"A wood nymph," I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space.

"Yes," Dionysus confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time-well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away-the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha. Absolutely unfair."

Dionysus sounded like a six year old. A pouting little kid.

"And…" I began, unwilling to believe, "Your father is…"

"Di immortales, Chiron," Dionysus said. "I thought you taught this girl the basics. My father is Zeus of course."

"You really are Dionysus," I muttered." The god of wine…"

Dionysus rolled his eyes. "What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the children say, 'Well, duh!'?"

"Y-yes, Mr. D."

"Then, well, duh! AJ. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?"

"You're a god."

"Yes, child."

"A god. You." I couldn't help but think the entire situation to be even more unbelievable, because the man in front of me did not look like much.

He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in his eye, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I knew that if I pushes him, Dionysus would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a strait-jacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life.

"Would you like to test me, child?" He said quietly.

I shook my head. "No," I added for good measure, "No, sir."

The fire died a little. He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win."

"Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me."

For a moment, I thought Dionysus was going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too.

"I'm tired," Dionysus said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."

Dionysus turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Atalanta Jackson. And mind your manners."

He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.

"Will Grove be okay?" I asked Chiron.

Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been … ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting for another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

"Mount Olympus," I said, astounded. "You're telling me there really is a palace there?"

"Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, AJ, just as the gods do."

"You mean the Greek gods are here. In America."

"Well, certainly. The gods move with the heart of the West."

"The heart of the west?"

"It what would you call 'Western civilization.' It's not just an abstract concept, no, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are a part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tie so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization were obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then, as you well know-or as I hope you know, since you passed my course-the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Oh, different names, perhaps-Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, and so on-but the same forces, the same gods."

"But shouldn't the gods have died? Rome destroyed Greece."

"Ah, but the Romans adopted the gods into their own, so the West continued to live on. The gods have simply moved about, wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. Just look at the architecture around the world. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, AJ, of course they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not- and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either-America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

I fidgeted uncomfortable. It was all too much, both the idea that the gods existed and Chiron's long-winded speech. It also sounded as if I was included in this 'we.'

"What… what does this have to do with me? Who am I?"

Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going o get up out of his wheelchair. But that couldn't be, he was paralyze from the waist down.

"Who are you?" he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be smores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realized that is wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair. It was sme kind f container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've help all of him. A leg came out, long and knobby-knee, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.

I stared at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk.

"What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there for so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, AJ. Let's meet the other campers."

* * *

**There you go.**

**I have final exams next week, and then my parents will probably kill me once we know what grades I've made so far.**

**In college, but they pay for most of it so I guess it's well within their right to kill me. Anyway, I'll try to get the next one out as soon as I can, and I'm terribly sorry about the quality of this one.**


End file.
